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Month: March 2017

We all must agree that India to a large extent has a preference for lighter skin. Products claiming to lighten skin splash the billboards and play on TVs. Potential brides and grooms are advertised majorly as ‘fair’ and children are told not to play out in the sun too long in fear of getting dark. Some of my own Indian friends are terrified of the sun and its ‘tanning’ effect. Now I go could on about this but it’d be a whole other issue I rather speak about next time.

The reason I brought this up is because I think that this preference towards a certain skin colour is the cause of the unfounded negative attitudes that some (if not most) Indians have towards Africans.

On 27 March 2017, four innocent African bystanders were assaulted in daylight by a mob of “peaceful” protesters in Greater Noida. This mob was protesting against Africans.

What happened?

An Indian 12-grader had gone missing in the area, and the fingers were pointed at the Nigerians in the neighbourhood. People BARGED into their house without so much of a care for their privacy to search for the boy. Upon finding nothing, these ignorant people accused the African men of cannibalism. Yes, people, in THIS day and age!

The boy was found seemingly overdosed on drugs and he later passed away in the hospital. The parents still filed an FIR against these men, because the boy claimed to have been kidnapped by a “dark-skinned man”, and also because Indians cannot be dark-skinned, only Africans can be. They believed that these men were responsible behind the boy’s drug overdose. Claims were apparently made that the boy used to spend time with these men as well.

However, the accused had to be released because there were no evidence that it was any of their doing. There was NO link between the victim and these Nigerian men, except maybe that both of them lived in a racist neighbourhood.

People took to the streets demanding justice (wish justice could really dealt) and turned violent upon seeing four African men who were innocent. The Africans in India are also protesting against racism by the Indians towards them.

That’s what happened.

So now:

Let us say that these men were the true perpetrators behind this alleged murder. Why is it that this incident took a racist undertone and generalise the behaviour towards the WHOLE continent of Africa? Why is it that a bunch of Nigerian men, based on this assumption, were held representative of a continent with 53 other countries? Why is it that all Africans must be responsible for the act of some men? This is my issue with many things in this world. Why must I, an individual who is fit to make my own decisions, account for my countrymen, my race and my gender?

But more likely than that, these men were the true victims of a racial attack, and this incident (one of the many) has just been an open window to the mindsets of some (again, if not most) Indians. This is, unfortunately, not the first act of prejudice and discrimination towards Africans in the country. Many African people have been assaulted in India – last year, there was the infamous case of the Tanzanian woman who was assaulted and STRIPPED (because they have to sexually oppress women, yes). She was forced to take the fall when a Sudanese man earlier that day had been involved in a fatal road accident. Then in 2014, three African men were mobbed in a metro station for allegedly harassing local women, the same year in which Delhi’s former law minister allegedly led a mob to illegally detain a group of African women who were accused of prostitution.

Why must we be so stuck upon the colours of our skins? Why must the colour of our skin dictate our behaviour and who we are as a person? When did a certain ethnic group become lesser because they were darker? When did a whole continent become lesser just because of their skin? My fair skin does not make me less capable of a crime next to a dark skin.

Curiosity is one thing, when you see a foreigner so unlike you (although the issue of boundaries must also be discussed). But it is another thing to assume his or her whole personality and make him or her a representative of a whole country/continent.

Yes, yes, fair skin is beautiful. But dark skin is no lesser. Beauty comes from within; beauty is who you are. A group must not be based on one’s actions.

I’m currently writing an assignment on whether juveniles should be tried as adults and I’m referring to India’s Juvenile Justice (Care and Protection of Children) Act of 2015, which came into force after the infamous abominable 2012 New Delhi gang rape in India.

One of the offenders was just short of turning 18 at the time of the crime, and was on trial in a juvenile justice court. He got away with just three years in a reform home…

I, for one, support the idea of having offenders who commit heinous crimes on trial as adults. At the age of 17, I believe that if you rape a woman so brutally with a bunch of other men, you are a disgusting human being that deserves as much sympathy as you gave to that poor woman.

But, wait, let me rant on about how despicable rapists are, how despicable these men in the New Delhi gang rape were. Rape has always been something I could never take lightly, not as a joke, not ever. The idea of forcing yourself on a person sexually, penetrating him/her is just a lot to handle – that you can look past their tears, be deaf to their screams, be unconscious of their struggles. It is so vile, so inhumane.

How can you not imagine the pain the victim is going through? And especially for rapists who use TOOLS to rape their victims, how is it possible? What is it, that drives these people through the whole process of rape? Are they void of empathy, of any emotions?

This is just beyond comprehension.

When we look this 2012 New Delhi gang rape, the way they assaulted the woman, the way they physically tortured her. What would allow these men to attack her in such a way that she succumbs to the injuries and dies? A 23-year old medical student? I always ask of people who die too young/early: what about their dreams, their aspirations, their hopes of the future? What about their plans for the next day, the next hour? All of that, all of the emotions they’ve felt, things they’ve done, contributions they’ve made to someone’s life, all of that turns to nothing.

This feeling I have of confusion, hatred and disgust fuels my interest in sexual offender. It’s so heinous, but I want to know why? And sometimes, I’m afraid I know why – because humans are selfish, and self-centered. That’s all there is to it. Our own desires overpower other people’s…

I wrote this in the moment after the incident. Some statements are just personal expressions due to the frustration and confusion of the moment, but I choose not to edit them to retain its original feel.

I wear a white crop top, through which the shade of my bra can somewhat be seen, and a bodycon black skirt that hugs my hips. I apply a Wine Maybelline lipstick and do my eyebrows. It’s a good morning.

The day I spend in a mutual friend’s house – there are six African men and the lone girl, me. I sit there, a little distant because I am a mere acquaintance to all but one. It’s a small, cozy apartment we are in. The cleaner comes knocking, and enters to take out the trash. He tells one of the men in the kitchen, that I’m pretty and all that. I laugh when I’m told that. Well, I guess, thank you.

Then I happen to venture out the apartment door, wanting to explore and also escape the awkwardness I’m experiencing with strangers. I am just about to return inside when the cleaner comes outside. He greets me with a smile and asks me how I am in Hindi. I reply politely. He then proceeds to ask something I took a little while to register: “How much do you charge…” I’m blank. “… Per night?”

That question takes me by surprise. I am astounded by the audacity this man has to dare ask a young woman how much she charges these African men per night, and just through this simple question, I see several layers of complexities merging.

“I’m not a fucking prostitute!” I exclaim in English, when I finally register what he is saying. I am ashamed to say this, but I am unable to say anything beyond that, unable to confront him.

He, at that moment, asks me if I understand Hindi. I think I just looked at him in anger and shock. He says, “no? Okay, thank you. Bye bye.” He walks away.

Dumbfounded, I enter the room and tell them what happened. They’re also irked by the man’s actions. I want to cry, but I hold it in well. I am able to blink my tears away before they fall. It is all good until my friend asks me if I want Fanta or Sprite – my tears burst out. Outside the apartment, he comforts me; the cleaner happens to be right downstairs. Upon confrontation, the cleaner tells me that he never said that, that he never asked that, that he was only asking if I knew Hindi. I want to spit on his face.

He grasps the rosary around his neck when he hears the accusation. And I scoff – you’re not a good person just because you have faith in a god. He tells me I am confused and that I misunderstood. I tell him to stop bullshitting. In the end, he offers me an apology that is not sincere and I walk in back to the room.

I feel ashamed and embarrassed, apart from the anger and hurt.

1) My clothes… Could they have sparked this incident? I remind myself that it is not my fault. Despite what some people might say, despite what the society might say, the length of my clothes do not determine my worth or my promiscuity.

2) I am a fair Asian woman, dressed very cutely, in a room with six dark-skinned African men. Most Indians here tend to have a negative view of Africans, and the traditionalist and conservative culture of India ensures that any such woman with several men must surely be a prostitute or engaging in some sort of sexual relations with them. I mean, of course, she must be! They can’t possibly be platonic friends. She must be fucking them all for money, or at least one of them.

The conclusion I came to today: I looked as cute as I felt, and no ignorant man can take that away from me. He is a fool guided by judgmental and inherently sexist views that only draw clear lines between men and women, unable to see them as just people, unable to see them beyond a romantic/sexual relation.

This incident only proves to me the ridiculousness of some people out there.

My point no. 2 may come off as a bit of a concrete statement, but I am well aware that the culture there may not always be like that. Not every Indian is like that, no, I could never say that, for someone who believes in individuality and for someone with a good number of beautiful Indian friends. But I do stand by the fact that a fair-skin-preference does exist in India and it manifests in untoward ways.

I was very upset and taken aback by this incident; it’s the first I’ve ever had that was of this extent. I experienced another one not so far after, however.

On this international woman’s day, we should celebrate every woman, regardless of their age, gender, sexuality, race, class or even their sex.

Recognize today that we stand equal in actuality, only lesser in society. We are just as important as men, just as strong as them. Today, we look at women for all they’ve given us. Today, we reaffirm their importance.

Far too long, women have been in the shadow of men, their achievements taken by men. They have to face several crime risks from even before their births till the day the die.

We are growing, and we will continue to do so. We have been good, now we will be better.

Natasha was 19-years-old when she was approached by a woman while shopping at the mall. The woman told her she loved her makeup and had been looking for someone to join their makeup team. They did makeup for movies and fashion shows. She told Natasha she thought she would be perfect for the job and gave Natasha her business card in case she was interested. The offer seemed legitimate to Natasha and after a phone interview, filling out some paperwork, and a makeup test she was asked to meet the woman and the woman’s boss at a restaurant to go over some final details. But while she was at the restaurant, something felt wrong.

“I felt like the woman started being short with me, and uncomfortable,” Natasha told America’s Most Wanted. “I felt like she was looking at her boss in a weird way. I started getting a completely different…

I was younger, when this question crossed my mind: “Why can’t I be ugly?”

What’s wrong with being ugly?

Yes, some people might generally not be considered attractive (“pretty”, “handsome”, “hot”, “gorgeous”). Some people might be considered unattractive even.

So what?

So what if they’re ugly?

Now what I’m going to rant about, you may not understand.

So what if someone is ugly?

Why must they be offered some consolation? Why must it be that “it’s okay, you’re not THAT ugly” or “what matters is that you’re beautiful on the inside” or “you’re beautiful because you’ve got a beautiful heart”? Why must the person think “why am I so ugly? I wish I was prettier” or “what can I do to make myself look better”?

Why can’t we just live and let be? Can I not just be ugly and leave it at that? Must I get some consolation words? Must I be told that there will be someone for me? Must I be told that it’s okay? Why can’t I know myself that it is?

Let’s say I’m ugly. Let’s leave at that, why don’t we? Must you go on to ridicule me, must it be an offensive or harmful to call me that? Am I already facing some (un)conscious biasness from people around me for being ugly?

Less likely to be offered jobs, less likely to be warmed up to, less likely to wanted be friends with. Now we must go on to make it a big deal?

Maybe I have a good heart, maybe I’m smart. How is that related? There could be someone who finds me attractive, there will be someone who won’t. It’s like that. If I’m ugly, I’m ugly. That’s it.

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You got me scatterers in pieces💔shining like stars and screaming🌠 lighting me up like Venus⚡but then you dissapear and make me wait🌪every second' like torture🌬finding a way to let go🔹but no i can't escape